


How (not) to Behave when your Goldfish dies

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, everyone is acting pretty silly, loads of sap, the fish dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-01 03:03:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13989102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Smiler looks strange. He’s not bright orange now, more a weak yellow. That’s never been the case before and Theon is alarmed immediately. He dunks his hand in the tank and swirls his fingers. Normally Smiler would come to see what the commotion is about, then try to nibble at Theon’s fingers. Today he doesn’t, just stays motionlessly near to the ground.Theon doesn’t anticipate the sudden rush of panic surging through him. Smiler is ill. His goldfish is  ill!





	1. The Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> The fish story is a true story - a friend of mine told me of her SO's fish dying and him losing his shit over it, and I immediately came up with all this nonsense. And I hadn't written happy greysnow in about A WEEK then, so. Here it is.

Smiler looks strange. He’s not bright orange now, more a weak yellow. That’s never been the case before and Theon is alarmed immediately. He dunks his hand in the tank and swirls his fingers. Normally Smiler would come to see what the commotion is about, then try to nibble at Theon’s fingers. Today he doesn’t, just stays motionlessly near to the ground.

Theon doesn’t anticipate the sudden rush of panic surging through him. Smiler is ill. His goldfish is _ill!_ For a split second he just stands there, not knowing what to do. Then he remembers. The vet! When animals are sick you take them to the vet.

With shaking hands Theon prepares the little goldfish glass which has been standing around empty ever since the day a frightened little boy came to live with strange people, clutching the only thing he brought from home. Catelyn had nearly suffered a heart attack when she’d seen the fish in the tiny glass.

“He needs space,” she’d said. The next day Theon’s new room had contained a monstrous aquarium with everything a goldfish could wish for, and Theon had been tasked with reading ‘How to care for your Goldfish’, or rather, learning it by heart.

And despite his miserable first two years in a goldfish glass, Smiler had persevered and reached the impressing age of thirteen years. Which is still not _old_ , strictly speaking. Goldfish, the book said, can live thirty years or even more. Technically, Smiler isn’t even middle-aged.

Carefully Theon angles for Smiler, cradles him in his palm for a second before he lets him slide into the glass. Smiler immediately sinks to the ground like a stone. Theon swallows dryly. That’s not too bad, is it? Dead fish swim with their belly up. Smiler’s not dead. But there’s obviously something wrong with him, and Theon grabs the glass and heads for Robb’s room.

He knocks, no answer. He knocks again, a little too harsh and the door flies open under his fist. Robb really should see to that lock. The room is empty, Robb’s not there. Theon curses under his breath. Of course Robb wouldn’t be there, it’s a Saturday morning and he probably has Rugby training or is giving some less fortunate kid private lessons, or maybe he’s over at his girlfriend’s for brunch.

A quick detour to the kitchen shows that Cat is out for her usual Saturday shopping trip, probably with the boys. Through the kitchen window Theon can see Arya in the garden with the dogs, but she’s no use to him right now. Sansa is his last hope, she got her licence a couple of months ago, but her room is empty as well. Dancing class, Theon remembers dimly.

Fuck. For the first time Theon really regrets losing his licence over that stupid incident where he’d been stopped for speeding and decided it’s a good idea to pick a fight with the executive officer.

Who had been astonishingly correct until Theon had started mocking his uniform and his haircut. After that he found plenty of faults at the car and let Theon blow into one of those alcohol-detector-thingies, and despite being definitely not _drunk_ it had been enough.

So far he’s gotten everywhere he wanted to be without any problems, there’s Robb and, if grudgingly, Cat - and there’s plenty of girls in Theon’s address book who are all too willing to drive him around in exchange for some soft-soaping.

But it’s Saturday morning and Theon doesn’t have the energy to call any of those silly, giggling hens and go through the whole spiel of being charming and sexy. He doesn’t want to be sexy right now, he wants to take his fish to the vet.

The saving thought doesn’t feel saving at all, it feels rather like the last, brittle straw one can find. But it will have to do, there’s no other choice. Tentatively Theon climbs the stairs to the attic room, pressing the glass with Smiler to his chest. There’s a joke he’s made often enough, about how the crazy people always live in the attic in horror stories, but for once he doesn’t feel like joking.

Upon his knock there’s a long silence and Theon is about to give up and just go on foot, no matter how long it takes, when the door opens a fraction and Snow’s sleepy face peers out. When he sees who has come knocking he opens it wider. His hair is a ridiculous nest of tangled curls and his red eyes are squinting at Theon suspiciously. When he finally opens his mouth, his voice sounds drowsy.

“Whassit.”

With a slight tinge of guilt Theon realises Snow must’ve had a late shift at one of his jobs. He’s probably come home a couple of hours ago. He pushes the guilt away. It’s not like him and Snow are besties and he has to apologize. Snow expects him to behave like a selfish twat anyway.

“My fish is ill.” Theon cringes at how ridiculous that sounds. “Robb is out and everyone else too and I wanted to ask…” He takes a deep breath. “Could you drive me to the vet?”

For a moment Snow doesn’t move at all and Theon begins to suspect he’s fallen asleep again, but then he slowly rubs a hand over his face and sighs, a weary, long-suffering sigh. Despite his fear for Smiler Theon can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Snow the eternal martyr. He expects the door to close in his face any second now, but Snow sighs again and nods.

“Give me a couple of minutes. I’ll be down as fast as I can.”

They don’t talk in the car at first, Snow is too tired and Theon too tense to get a real conversation going. Not that Theon could recall them ever having a real conversation. Snow is staring out of the windshield, brow furrowed in concentration. Maybe he tries to avoid falling asleep again. Smiler is still bobbing slightly along the bottom of the glass and Theon’s worry increases. He heaves a sigh and Snow’s gaze flickers over.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Theon mutters, embarrassed. It’s a fish. Snow will think he’s lost his marbles, being so freaked out over a damn fish. “Just… I dunno.”

“Smiler will be alright.”

Theon looks over curiously, at Snow’s impassive face.

“You know his name?”

“Course I know his name. It’s not…” Snow stops, coughs a little.

“Not very original, you mean?” Theon leans his head back. “Yeah, I know. Hey, I was eight. Robb named his dog Grey Wind at what, fifteen?”

The corner of Snow’s mouth curls up a little, not quite a smile, but it encourages Theon to babble on. Anything but sitting around in anxious silence.

“Remember when that friend of Ned’s came to visit with his sons? One of them was alright but the other was a terrible little shit.”

“You mean the one who decapitated all of Sansa’s barbies before he managed to set the living room on fire?” Snow snorts and Theon laughs, if a little shrill.

“The very one. He cornered me later while his brother was with you guys.”

Snow’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“I remember. You were in hysterics when they were finally gone. Didn’t he try to eat Smiler?”

“Yep. Fished him out and said, if I don’t give him my pocket money he’ll swallow him down, neck and crop.” Theon still cringes at the thought, even with all of this being nearly ten years ago.

“And you gave him your pocket money.”

There’s that upward curl of Snow’s lips again, but not in a mocking way. If the roles were reversed, Theon would mock him endlessly. For being so attached to a fish. For giving in to a bully at the ripe old age of eleven years. Snow doesn’t mock him. This hint of a smile seems more reminiscent than cruel.

Not that Snow has ever been cruel to anyone, not even Theon, despite Theon having relentlessly tormented him throughout their childhood. Come to think of it, of course Snow would drive him without so much as a question. The boy is nothing if not a pushover, never retaliating to Theon’s jokes and snide remarks, never dealing Theon the punch he deserves.

“You’re an idiot, Snow,” Theon drawls, habit getting the better of anxiety. “Here’s your chance to get back at me and you go and meekly play the driver to my Miss Daisy. Grow some balls, man.”

“And you’re an asshole, Greyjoy,” Snow says at length. He doesn’t look angry though, more sad. “The fish hasn’t done me any wrong, so why would I let him die? It’s not his fault his owner is such a giant prick.”

The resignation in Snow’s voice gets Theon to shut up until they arrive at the vet practice. To his surprise Snow gets out of the car as well. At Theon’s inquisitive look he shrugs, but his intentions become clear when they check in with the receptionist and he asks the lady behind the desk how long it’ll take. At the sight of Smiler in his glass she gives a snort that has Snow raise his eyebrows.

“Anything the matter, ma’am?”

“No, Sir,” she replies, evidently suppressing a giggle. “It’ll be about forty-five minutes before the doc can see to your… fish.”

Snow rolls his eyes, but thanks her and shoves Theon over to the hard, uncomfortable looking plastic chairs littering the small, overheated waiting area. Theon sits down and scans the room.

Nobody he knows, an old woman with an even older looking cat, a girl and a boy, twins maybe, with a tiny dog that’s shaking like a leaf, and a fat young dude cradling a mysterious box with air holes.

“I’ll go and wait in the car,” Snow mumbles. “If I fall asleep, just knock on the window.”

  

Theon looks down into the glass. Smiler is lying on the bottom now, flat on his side. Theon can feel the panic welling up inside him again and he swallows, unable to keep a shudder from running through him. It looks like Smiler is halfway gone already. Snow above him sighs, then takes a seat next to Theon.

“If I start snoring, give me a shove.”

The moment Snow closes his eyes Theon shoves him and Snow blinks. Theon shrugs. Any distraction is a welcome distraction.

“Thought I’d heard something.”

Snow glowers impressively and closes his eyes. Theon waits a couple of minutes, to lull him into a false sense of security, then shoves him again, hard. This time Snow doesn’t open his eyes, he just raises a hand and unerringly smacks Theon’s head. Theon giggles, completely sure he’s seen that little smile again on Snow’s dour face.

When it’s only them and the young guy left, Theon gets restless again. Why is this bloody doctor taking so long? After nearly one and a half hour the receptionist calls out.

“Sam and Gilly.”

The guy looks over at them shyly.

“If you like you can go ahead. Gilly isn’t sick, we’re only here for a check.” Upon Theon’s questioning look he adds, “Gilly is my turtle.”

Snow takes the decision off Theon’s hands by getting up, drawing him up as well.

“Thanks, man. Come on, Greyjoy.”

The vet is an older guy with the most serious face Theon has ever seen, and that means a lot when you know Jon Snow. Snow seems to know him, he nods curtly.

“Doc Stannis. We’re here for my… this is Theon. His fish is sick.”

For a moment Theon wonders what Snow had been about to say that he couldn’t. Friend, possibly, which would stretch the truth quite a bit. He’s got no idea what they actually are. Housemates? Some sort of adoptive brothers? Nothing fits.

The doctor peers into the glass where Smiler is still lying on the bottom, his mouth opening and closing. With a sigh the doc swirls the water around. No reaction whatsoever.

“This fish is as good as dead.”

Theon wants to punch the man in the face. How can he be so merciless? He hasn’t even tried something, hasn’t given Smiler any medicine, nothing. Not even condolences, or a comforting smile - the man looks like he doesn’t know how to smile. Snow stares at the doctor as if he wants to hypnotize him.

“Are you _absolutely_ sure there’s nothing we could try? No… I don’t know, vitamin stuff or _anything_?”

It nearly seems like a Mexican standoff between the two, only that they’re not pointing weapons at each other. They only stare. After an eternity has passed the doc looks aside. He grumbles something under his breath but produces a small plastic bottle from a drawer.

“Drop some of this in its tank, but expect no miracles.”

With those encouraging words they find themselves outside of the door. Theon shakes his head in disbelief. How this sourplum ever got into becoming a vet is beyond him.

Snow doesn’t say anything on their way back, but when Theon goes into his room he follows quietly. Theon stares at him for a second, but then shrugs and closes the door. If he’d be honest with himself he’d have to confess that being alone doesn’t sound too good right now.

Even Snow’s silent company is preferable to sitting there on his own. Snow gives him the bottle the vet gave them and Theon pours some of its content into the glass. He’s too anxious to move Smiler back to the big tank now.

The fish twitches and for a moment Theon feels a little hopeful. Then the movements stop, Smiler’s laughing little mouth stops opening and closing. Theon bites down on his knuckles, trying not to curse out loud.

“Do you want to… hold his fin or something like that?”

With an angry curse on his lips Theon turns to Snow, meaning to punch him for his mockery, but he stops dead in his tracks. Snow’s face is earnest and his dark eyes show nothing but sympathy.

For a moment Theon actually thinks about it, about holding his fish’s little fin while he slowly starts to drift to the surface, belly up. How utterly, utterly ridiculous. Theon hears a strange sound, coming from himself, a mix between a laugh and a sob.

Before he knows what he’s doing he has buried his face in Snow’s neck and laughs and cries simultaneously, probably sounding like a donkey on speed. Snow has flinched under the sudden onslaught, but now he awkwardly lifts a hand and starts patting Theon’s back.

After a while the fit subsides and Theon feels absolutely exhausted. He stays where he is, face hidden in Snow’s tangled curls, cheek pressed against his soaked sweater. Anything to not have to look at his fish. Snow doesn’t move a muscle, he’s still like a statue, and slowly Theon drifts into sleep.


	2. The Funeral

The first thing Theon becomes aware of is a warm weight around his waist, the next that he’s apparently cradled against a living, breathing person. He can feel the steady movements of a chest rising and falling.

Then he feels something tickle his cheek and he blows it away, which causes the person to shiver slightly. Theon decides not to open his eyes. Instead he noses at warm skin, breathes in deeply.

“You smell good, Snow,” he mumbles.

Theon reels back with a jolt as it all comes screaming back to him, and finds himself nose to nose with Jon fucking Snow, the bloody bastard looking startled as hell, his cheeks flaming red, his arm dropping from Theon’s waist.

Maybe he’s not quite awake yet, and maybe it’s still the shock from realising his fish is really dead and Theon apparently having cried - _cried_ , for fuck’s sake, like a bloody toddler - against Snow’s shoulder.

Whatever it is, it makes Theon laugh at Snow’s deer-in-the-headlight look, feeling not even a hint of awkwardness. The poor boy is absolutely mortified, when all Theon has done is nuzzling his neck a bit. Really, there’s no call for this level of embarrassment.

Only when Theon moves back, rather reluctant to leave the surprising warmth of Snow’s body, he becomes aware what he’s so embarrassed about. He’s obviously having an issue with his pants.

That, Theon thinks, is interesting. He always thought Snow to be devoid of any feelings in this regard, what with him blushing like a girl everytime Theon boasts about one of his conquests. Snow has started hyperventilating now and Theon nearly feels sorry for him. Time to put him out of his misery.

“Get yourself together, Snow. You’re what, eighteen? Course that can occur when someone as skilled and sexy as I touches you. Nothing happened, okay? I just forgot who I’m with.”

“Nothing happened,” Snow echoes before pushing himself to his feet. “Sorry ‘bout your fish.”

Right. Theon finally braves a look at the glass, at Smiler floating belly up near the surface. Fuck. To his horror he starts welling up again, he bites his lip but it’s a lost cause.

When Theon makes a strangled noise, Snow comes back in, closing the door again with a sigh. Theon wraps his arms around himself before he can do anything horrible, like attacking poor Snow again.

“I think I know what we should do now, what you need.”

Theon rolls his eyes. Bloody virgins, one little touch and they’re all over you and you’ll never be rid of them ever again. He takes a deep breath to tell Snow in absolutely certain terms that it’s not gonna happen.

Not that a tumble with a guy every now and then would be a bad thing, Theon has done it a couple of times and it’s always been good. But this is still Snow, Snow the bloody icicle, no matter what, and if Theon wants to get frostbite on his cock he might as well stick it in the freezer.

“We should arrange a proper funeral for Smiler.”

Wait, what?

Now it’s Theon’s turn to flush bright red. Really, what the hell was he thinking? As if righteous, boring Snow would ever consider that. It probably was exactly what Theon had told him, a bodily reaction, courtesy of his youth and lack of experience.

Theon feels exceptionally stupid. Even if Snow were into guys, or sex at all, he’d never look to Theon for it. Theon knows Snow despises him with a passion, always looking down on him and frowning upon everything he does, his many, many girls, his lack of decisiveness and ambition…

Now Snow doesn’t look judgmental. He studies the goldfish glass for a moment before reaching out for it.

“May I? I’ll prepare something, okay?”

Theon nods. The idea is growing on him, now that he thinks about it. A funeral, a farewell. Theon would’ve probably flushed Smiler down the toilet in a kneejerk reaction, only to regret it for the rest of his life. This is better.

“Do you want a sea burial? In the garden pond of course. Or do you want to cremate him? Or bury him for real, like, in the ground?”

Theon shrugs. His eyes have started stinging again and suddenly he wants nothing more than for Snow to finally piss off and leave him alone so he can bawl like a little girl over a fucking dead fish.

“Whatever you think is best.”

“Alright,” Snow says, picking up the glass. “We’ll do it in the evening when the others are home.” He pauses again at the door. “Try to sleep some more.”

The door falls shut and Theon is alone. He looks at his watch. It’s early afternoon by now and he still hasn’t showered since he came home in the morning. Come to think of it, it’s no wonder he fell asleep on Snow, what with no rest at all the last night over at some girl’s place. And then of course all the fish disaster.

Unbidden his thoughts flicker back to Snow. Who has slept for maybe two hours between coming home and Theon waking him up again. And instead of catching up on that he goes to arrange a funeral for Theon’s fish. That’s… really nice. Theon sighs, feeling faintly ashamed. He knows Snow is a nice guy, a kind guy. Theon just has never done anything to deserve being on the receiving end of that kindness.

He crawls into bed, pulling the covers over his head. Enough thinking about Snow, even though it’s better than thinking about Smiler, and Theon’s mum who gave him the fish as a present for his eighth birthday. Theon shivers, curling up into a tight ball. I’m an idiot, he thinks before he starts crying his eyes out over a goldfish.

When he wakes up he doesn’t feel any better, the sight of the empty aquarium nearly sets him off again and he flees to take a long, steaming hot shower. A glance in the mirror shows red eyes and a pitiful frown, but as much as he tries to smirk his usual smirk, it just won’t come.

Sighing heavily he goes to dress himself, then heads downstairs. There are voices coming from the kitchen, Snow and Robb if he’s not mistaken. Unashamed, Theon sidles up to the slightly ajar door to eavesdrop. Robb’s voice sounds worried.

“I can’t believe the fish is dead. Theon must be devastated.”

“He is. So devastated he forgot he hates me, which really says something.”

Theon shakes his head. Snow’s got the cart before the horse there. Theon doesn’t _hate_ him. He’s just easy to rile up and a nice target when Theon feels like venting his frustrations. But hate? Nah.

“And you’re making… sorry, what are you making?” Robb asks, incredulous. “I didn’t catch that.”

“A coffin. For the funeral. You’ll come, yeah? For support?”

Robb snorts and Theon can’t even blame him. A fish funeral. Still, he can’t deny he’s really thankful for this.

“You’d do anything, hm?” Robb sighs and Theon’s ears prick up. “I don’t get it, Jon. It’s not like he’s ever going to say thank you. Or whatever you hope will happen.”

“I’m hoping for nothing,” is the defiant answer.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Theon jumps at the loud voice in his back and turns to glare at Rickon who’s snuck up on him with a wide grin. In the kitchen there’s deadly silence and Theon curses Rickon’s timing. It had just gotten interesting. Does he really seem like such a prick that he wouldn’t even thank Snow for all he’s done for him today?

 _Well_ , a voice in his head says, _you haven’t so far_. And he already did a lot. Theon makes a face at Rickon who’s still staring up at him expectantly. Maybe he should just go in and get it over with, say thank you like a good, well-behaved boy and revel in their surprise.

“Nothing,” he mumbles at Rickon and hurries back to his room like the stubborn idiot he is.

It’s about an hour later when there’s a knock on the door and Robb lets himself in without waiting for an answer. He takes in Theon sitting on his bed, probably looking like a picture of misery.

“Hey, man. Sorry about your fish. We’re ready for the funeral now, it’s already getting dusky.” He grabs Theon’s arms and pulls him up. “Come on, we’re waiting.”

When Theon lays eyes on the scene at the pond he doesn’t know if he should laugh or shout or whatever. The whole clan is assembled, gathering around Snow who holds something like a cigar box. Theon’s throat goes dry when he thinks about what exactly is in this box.

As soon as Robb has dragged Theon over to them, Snow places the box in Theon’s hands. It smells funny.

“I thought we put it on a lily pad and set it on fire. You know, like a Viking funeral.”

Theon nods, not trusting his voice. Snow sighs.

“Do you want to say anything? Like, a eulogy?”

Theon shakes his head. Snow sighs again.

“Okay.” He seems to think hard, then he clears his throat. “Today we say goodbye to Smiler the goldfish.”

Arya snorts and Theon can see Bran kicking her shin. Snow continues after giving her a glare.

“He’s been a good friend for Theon ever since his mum bought him from UltraZoo.”

Theon frowns. Where the hell does Snow know all this from?

“We’ll never forget his cute, smiling mouth and we hope no one in fish heaven ever forgets to feed him.”

At this part Robb starts coughing, face bright red, and Theon squints at him in suspicion. Aha? Snow ignores him, nodding at Theon to go ahead with the box. Carefully Theon goes down on his knees and places it on a large lily pad. Snow bends over his back and shoves a matchbox in Theon’s hand.

“I’ve dowsed the box in lighter fluid,” he whispers before straightening again.

Theon’s hands are shaking but finally he manages to light a match and set the box on fire. There’s a moment of silence as they watch the box burn, then Bran breaks it by offering Theon his hand.

“My condolences.”

One after the other the Starks shake his hand with grave faces, until Theon can’t take it any longer. He starts chuckling, then laughing out loud, until he’s holding his belly. He drops down and rolls onto his back, completely in hysterics by now. They watch him, shaking their heads in unison at his behaviour.

Half an hour later Theon still breaks into giggles every now and then, but at least he’s in the safety of his room now, together with Robb, Snow and two bottles of vodka, one of them half empty already.

They’re all sitting on Theon’s bed, feet outstretched. When the first bottle is empty Theon has started to babble, anecdotes about the fish that no one’s interested in, interspersed with curses directed at Doc Stannis and his receptionist.

When the second bottle starts to run short, Robb yawns ostentatiously. He hasn’t drunk that much, and neither has Snow. Theon, on the other hand, is utterly inebriated. Robb clambers to his feet and claps Theon’s back.

“I’ll call it a night. Sorry again about your fish.”

Theon peers in the bottle, then shrugs and jugs the rest down. He turns his head to Snow, surprised at how hard it is to keep upright.

“Saw that,” he slurs, pointing at the door. “When you said feeding he acted strange. What was that about?”

Snow shrugs, clearly uncomfortable.

“When we were younger and you started staying away over the weekends, and you asked him to look after Smiler…”

“Forgot, did he?” Theon closes his eyes and leans against the wall. “Doesn’t matter now I guess.”

“Only a couple of times. He had so much to do,” Snow mutters, defensive. “And Smiler never went hungry, I made sure.”

“You fed him.” It’s not a question and Theon already knows the answer. “Course you did.”

“The fish…” Snow starts and Theon cackles.

“Wasn’t an asshole like his owner, I know, you’ve mentioned that.”

“I should get going,” Snow mumbles and makes to get up.

Theon grabs his sleeve and holds on tight. He feels sufficiently fortified, it’s now or never. He gives a slight pull and it catches Snow unprepared, with a yelp he falls against Theon’s chest. He quickly scrambles up, but Theon has now got a hold of his collar and keeps him in place.

“Thank you,” he says with all the solemnity he can muster, “for being there for me today.”

Snow’s eyes slowly wander up to meet Theon’s and suddenly his pinched up face changes, becomes softer.

“Anytime,” he says, his voice low and husky.

Theon stares at him, not releasing his grasp. They’re very close now, he could count Snow’s eyelashes if he’d wanted to. It’s a strange thought, that he might want to.

“What’re you staring at?” Snow finally asks when Theon keeps his hand fisted into his shirt.

“Your nose,” Theon answers, nonsensical but honest. “You’ve got a cute nose.”

And he closes the distance to place a soft kiss on top of said nose, just because he can. A shuddering breath escapes Snow’s lips, washing warmly over Theon’s face, and suddenly he becomes aware of a strange sight. His own hand, softly stroking back Snow’s hair. And why the fuck not?

“Thank you,” he whispers again before he leans in and softly takes Snow’s lower lip between his own.

His mouth is soft, warm, and Theon feels compelled to linger, taste this warmth. He gently sucks at Snow’s lip, his hand in Snow’s hair, Snow’s low moan ringing in his ears.

“Thank you,” he says against that pliant mouth, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He kisses him once more, both hands tangled in Snow’s hair now, drawing him harder against his mouth. He traces those full lips with his tongue before letting it slide into Snow’s mouth with a stifled moan.

Snow’s arms have wound around Theon’s waist and now he starts kissing him back, clumsily but so, so soft, an eagerness to his lips that has Theon’s mind reeling. Wrong, he thinks. He’s been so wrong about him. He’s not cold at all. Theon breaks away with a low laugh.

“You’re trembling, Snow.”

“You’re kissing me.” Even Snow’s voice trembles. His face is serious. “You’re drunk.”

“I am,” Theon confirms, “what of it?”

“Tomorrow you won’t be kissing me.”

Snow says it with resignation, casts his eyes down, the corners of his mouth drooping. Theon kisses him again. It still seems like a good idea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, more pathos for a fish. Who's now in fish heaven.


	3. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sap: HELLOOOOO!!!

Waking up with a vodka hangover is never nice, even less so when your mind slowly starts to clear and your fish is still dead, you’ve made yourself ridiculous in front of your whole foster family and -

The rest of what happened isn’t a bad memory at all, dim and fuzzy, but comfortable. Theon sighs as he rolls out of bed. His watch says it’s already midday, high time to get going if he wants to get some of Catelyn’s delicious Sunday roast.

Which means brushing his teeth, going down and trying to act like a functioning human being. Which means sitting at the same table as poor Snow. Whom he had attacked in his drunk attempt to thank him.

He should apologize. The boy will be beating himself up over what has happened, that he let Theon do that to him. There’s something fluttering on the edge of Theon’s brain but he can’t quite get a hold of it.

It takes Snow’s mortified look when Theon stalks into the kitchen and mumbles a short greeting, mortified and with a hint of fear, that makes Theon realise the full extent of what happened. Snow had kissed him back.

Theon has frozen mid-step, trying to comprehend what that means. It hadn’t been him alone. Snow had played his part.

Then why does he look so afraid?

The moment Theon sits down beside Robb, Snow jumps up as if he’s electrocuted himself and mumbles an apology before hightailing it out of the room.

Catelyn pulls a face and gets up to wrap Snow’s untouched plate in cling foil. Robb looks after Snow, then back at Theon with a reproachful glance.

“What’ve you done?”

“Nothing,” Theon mumbles, “not really.” Too much. Not enough?

His plate is snatched away from under his hand and Catelyn gives it the same treatment as Snow’s. Theon stares at her in shock. What the hell?

“I suggest you go and apologize for whatever you’ve done, young man.”

She looks at him with a scowl, and Theon can’t help a baffled laugh. Catelyn Stark, the eternal mother hen. But this is Jon Snow she’s talking about, and he is not her son.

If it had been Robb Theon had wronged or anything he would understand. Or any of the others. But since when does she concern herself with Snow’s feelings and troubles?

Still, it’s better not to cross her and at least she hasn’t thrown the food out. Not that she ever would, Catelyn hates wasting things with a passion. Robb is still busy with his own plate, meanly ignoring Theon’s hungry looks. Catelyn crosses her arms.

“Get it over with. I don’t want him moping around the house for weeks.”

That sounds more like Catelyn’s usual approach where Snow is concerned, and Theon rises from his seat with a sigh. She’s right. Best get it over with. Whatever 'it' is.

He climbs the stairs with determination, not allowing himself to pause. He reaches the last landing and immediately knocks on Snow’s door. It opens right away, revealing a very pale, very puffy-eyed Snow. He’s frowning hard.

“Have you come to tell me I’m an idiot for kissing you?”

“No.”

Theon blinks, taken aback. Suddenly he realises he’s got absolutely no idea what he’s come to tell him. Apologize. But for what? Snow wanted it. Theon wanted it. Doesn’t that mean all is well?

“Then what?”

Snow crosses his arms in front of his chest and wrinkles his nose in disdain. It’s really fucking cute.

“I think I came to kiss you again.”

Theon doesn’t know who’s more surprised, Snow or he himself, when he lets his mouth carry out what he just said. He kisses him properly, wet and hard and greedy.

Snow’s arms have come uncrossed almost immediately, now they shyly wind around Theon’s waist. Theon’s hands are bolder, one has sneaked its way under Snow’s shirt while the other is wrapped around his neck.

He attacks Snow’s throat, sucking at the sensitive skin until Snow is a shivering mess under his touches, and with a couple of gentle shoves he pushes him back into his room, slamming the door shut with one foot.

They stumble to the bed, falling down on it in a tangle of limbs. Theon’s urgency gets the better of him, frantically he rips his shirt off, then Snow’s, pressing their bodies together tightly. Warm, so fucking warm…

“Why,” Snow gasps as Theon lets go of his mouth for a moment, obviously completely floored. “Why, Theon?”

The honest answer would be, because you were there. You were there for me without asking for anything in return. You let me cry on your shoulder, you gave me warmth when I felt cold, and around you I don’t have to pretend. I can be myself and you still don’t leave, you’ll stay even when I’m sad, or angry, or ridiculously upset over a dead fish.

It’s too honest for now, this thing too new for Theon, too much to take in, too sudden a change. For now it’s enough that they’re both here. His hand dives into Snow’s pants, finding him hard and ready, and Theon starts to move, slow at first, then faster, until Snow spends with a stifled cry.

“Because I want to,” Theon whispers as he grinds against Snow’s thigh until he comes in his pants like an inexperienced boy, and it’s true enough.

It’s so easy, lying there with Snow in his arms and without a worry in the world. I’ll tell him, soon, Theon thinks. But first he needs to know.

“Jon?” he asks, the name unfamiliar in his mouth. “How long?”

The drowsy answer brings a smile to Theon’s face.

“Fucking forever, you prick.”

***

“You can’t be serious!”

Theon stares at his previously empty aquarium, now occupied by six different fish. It’s his birthday today and Jon has lured him into his attic room with the promise of a very special birthday gift - and what a gift, he can still feel Jon’s tongue in his - anyway, when he came back into his room there had apparently been a hostile acquisition and now his room is full of Starks, and full of fish.

“Perfectly serious,” Robb grins, pointing to a big red fish. “This is Robb, this one,” his finger follows a smaller, pink one, “is Sansa, there’s Arya, Bran, Rickon…” He pauses and looks around the side of the aquarium. “Ah, there she is. Catfish.”

Theon doesn’t know if he should laugh or curse. He’s got a tank full of Stark fish. It’s so idiotic, and so fucking nice he has to cough to mask a happy sigh.

“Thanks, guys,” he says, wrapping an arm around Robb’s shoulder and the other around Arya who tries to wriggle out of his grasp immediately. “Just one question…” He turns around to his boyfriend. “Where’s the Jon-fish?”

“No Jon-fish,” Jon says. “I didn’t have anything to do with this madness here.” He leans closer to whisper in Theon’s ear. “Don’t get me wrong, I would totally get you a fish, but I think you’d rather have your other special present.”

Theon pulls back a fraction to look at him. The others share meaningful glances and start to file out of Theon's room. Still not used to it after nearly a year.

“You mean… do you mean what I think you mean?”

“If you think what I think you’re thinking then you’re thinking right about what I mean.”

“Oh shut up, will you.” Theon grins as the last one of the others is out and the door slams shut. “You’re really ready then? Because you know I’d never want you to-”

“I am.” Jon’s face is serious. “If you are.”

“Alright.” Theon takes a deep breath. “I, Theon Greyjoy, declare in front of all these fish - mmphhh!!!”

“Will you stop that!!” Jon is pressing both hands on Theon’s mouth, but he’s laughing. “You know perfectly well what I mean, you bloody prick!”

“Yes,” Theon says with a smile, stroking Jon’s hair back. “I know. Luv ya, Snow.”

“You know I shouldn’t even let this count.” Jon scowls deeply before heaving a long sigh. “Ass.”

“Jon?” Theon kisses him, very gently now. “I love you.”

“Course you do. Now shut up and take me to bed.”

 


End file.
